French's International Copyrighted (in England, her Colonies, and 
the United States) Edition of the Works of the Best Authors 




Those Husbands of Ours 



a jfarcc In ©nc Bet 



JESSIE A. KELLEY 



Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French 



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New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

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London 

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STRAND 



Those Husbands of Ours 



B farce in ©ne act 



JESSIE A. KELLEY 



Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30 WEST 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS, 

Mrs. Jones, 

Mrs. Smith, 

Mrs. Brown, v r j- .. tt/- . 

Mrs. Shaw, } Indvgnant Wwes. 

Mrs. White, 
Mrs. Green, 

Mrs. Black ixvho has to laugh.) 

COSTUMES.— Modern. 

STAGE. 

A curtain is nqt necessary but may be used if 
desired. The stage should be arranged to repre- 
sent a living room in the utmost disorder possible — 
lace curtains tied in knots, clothing of all descrip- 
tions on floor, chandelier and chairs^matches, 
cards, pipes, papers, and dirty dishes everywhere— 
the more littered and ridiculous the better. 

_; Notes. — Give jokes and stories very slowly thus 
allowing the audience time to see the point. Prac- 
tise the story telling thoroughly — a story is made 
or spoiled in the telling- — more remarks and ques- 
tions should be interpolated during the story tell- 
ing. Use local names everywhere. There is abund- 
ant opportunity for this and nothing takes so well 
as local hits. Act out everything possible. 

TMP96-006477 
0)C!.D 3 49 76 



Those Husbands of Ours. 



{Enter Mrs. Jones tvith suitcase and umbrella. 
She stands sideiuays just inside doorivay, look- 
ing out through door, supposedly at kitchen.) 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I never ! Did you ever see 
such a looking kitchen in all your born days? I 
declare, I vvouldn t have believed it possible that 
one lone man could have so thoroughly upset things 
in one short week. Catch me ever leaving him to 
keep house alone again ! He thought I was get- 
ting tired and needed a rest so he talked with Smith 
and Brown and Shaw and White and Green and 
Black and they all decided their wives needed a 
little vacation so they induced us to go off together 
for a week — said they'd get along " fine and dandy." 
(disgustedly) Fine and dandy, indeed! (drops 
suitcase ar.d umbrella, looks around living room, 
throws out hands) Well, if this is what they call 
fine and dandy, what on earth would it be if it 
wasn't fine and dandy? (looks towards kitchen 
again) Think I'll need a year's vacation after I get 
that kitchen in shape. Isn't that sink a sight! 
Chock full of dirty dishes ! I didn't know I had so 
many dishes in the house. And more in this room ! 
(picks up chafing dish from table) I declare if he 
hasn't fried beefsteak in my chafing dish and com- 
pletely ruined it. Oh, dear me! And here's my 
best cut glass dish full of garbage, (smells) Phew! 
Such a looking place ! Slept on the couch — too 

3 



4 THOSE HUSBAXDS OF OURS. 

lazy to go up stairs. I don't believe the rest of the 
women will find such looking houses, {sinks doivn 
in chair zvitli long drazvn sigh and begins taking off 
zvraps) Well, I might as well take off my things, 
get some water on heating and go at it but it's a 
worse task than Hercules had cleaning out the Au- 
gean stables. 

{Knock at door, Mrs. Smith with shazvl over head 
enters zvithout zvaiting to he admitted — stops 
just inside door, holding up hands in surprise.) 

Mrs. Smith. I'il be jiggered, I didn't believe 
a worse looking house than that husband of mine 
had left could be found in all Christendom but I 
do believe this is a mighty close second. 

Mrs. Jones. Did you see that sink full of dishes 
in the kitchen ? You don't mean to say yours is as 
bad as that? 

Mrs. Smith, {gesticulating) Yes, sink full of 
them — then an overflow on chairs, floor and table — 
ashes a foot thick all around the kitchen stove, 
grease spots everywhere — likewise cat-hairs, my 
very best china dish broken in a hundred pieces 
and 

{Knock — Mrs. Jones goes to door. Mrs. Brown 
zvith tablecloth under her arm rushes excitedly 
past her and shakes out tablecloth zvhich is 
covered zciih great black blotches.) 

.Mrs. Brown, {.angrily) Just look at that, will 
you? My v-ery, very best embroidered tablecloth 
that I spent hours and hours and hours embroider- 
ing and that husband of mine has used it for a dish 
towel — not only for the china but for pots, pans 
and kettles. Isn't that enough to make a saint 
mad. {sarcastically) That's what comes when 
your husband insists that you need a little vacation. 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OUES. 5 

Black as iry shoe ! I can never get it white again 
in this world. 

Mrs. Smith. Isn't it an awful shame? I de- 
clare I'm almost afraid to look around my house 
much. 

Mrs. Jones. Too bad! (picks up from the floor 
a very black looking cloth) Well, here's one of my 
embroidered napkins that has evidently been used 
to wipe the stove although I see no sign of the stove 
ever having been wiped. 

{Knock at door.) 

Mrs. Jones. Come in. 

{Enter Mrs. Shaw.) 

Mrs. Shaw. What a looking place ! 

Mrs. Jones. I suppose your husband has kept 
yours looking as neat as wax. 

Mrs. Shaw. To tell you the truth I haven't got 
my courage up enough to go out in the kitchen yet 
but of all the looking sitting rooms you ever saw 
in your life mine is the " beatingest." {gesticulates) 
Lace curtains tied up in knots like a horse's tail, 
ceiling smoked blacker than the ace of spades and 
I should think a cyclone had struck the furniture. 
Aren't you glad we have such thoughtful husbands 
to send us away for a week to rest? {nods and sar- 
castic remarks) Thought I'd just run in to see how 
yours looked. W^ell, misery likes company. 

{Knock — Mrs. White enters zvith zvater pail ap- 
parently full of tobacco ashes. Acts as if it 
were very heavy — goes to centre of stage and 
puts it down — places hands on hips and thro'ivs 
back head.) 

Mrs. White. There, look at that, will you? 



6 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

That's what I found in the middle of my mahogany 
parlor table and I believe there's five pails full on 
the floor and bushels of burnt matches. I should 
think that husband of mine had invited the whole 
town in while I was gone and they'd smoked inces- 
santly day and night. 
(ExclarAations of "Monsters! " "Beasts! " etc.) 

Mrs. Whit". (looking around room) I don't 
believe your husband is a model of neatness either, 
Mrs. Jorcs. 

Mrs. Jones. (s':rcastically) Hardly. 

Mrs. White. In what condition did you find 
your house, Mrs. Smith? 

Mrs. Smith. Words cannot describe it. 

Mrs. White. And yours, Mrs. Brown? 

Mrs. Brown. Ditto, in italics. 

(Mrs. Green rushes i:i with sheets under arm — • 
spreads them out as others gather around her.) 

Mrs. Jones. More trouble. 

Mrs. Green. I made up my five beds all clean 
before I left home and this is a sample of the con- 
dition of the sheets. Every bed been slept in (stop- 
ping between each word) by — men — with — boots 
- — on — and— muddy — boots — at — that, and besides 
they've evidently polished their boots with the 
blankets, used my dresser covers for towels and my 
best down puff for a bath mat. 

Mrs. Jones. I really didn't realize we had such 
a depraved lot of husbands. 

Mrs. White. They're perfect barbarians. 

Mrs. Shaw. Suppose they think they were lead- 
ing the simple life. My husband is always prating 
about the simple life to me. 

Mrs. Smith. My husband had a spell of that 
but I cured him of it mighty quick. 

Mrs. Shaw. I'd like to know how you did it. 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 7 

I get simple life for breakfast, dinner and supper. 
He says there is no need of this cry of the high 
cost of living — it's the cost of high living and if v\^e'd 
only drop our extravagant ways and do as our 
grandfathers and grandmotiiers did this howl of the 
high cost of living would very soon die out. 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, that's just what I hear. 

Mrs. Brow^n. Just what my husband says ! 

Mrs. White. Same old story at my house. 

Mrs. Green. How did you stop it Mrs. Smith? 

Mrs. Smith. Let's sit down and I'll tell you, 
(all sit) Well, I stood it just about as long as I 
could, knowing he was smoking twenty-five cent 
cigars, joining expensive clubs, hiring taxicabs, etc., 
so one morning after he had had an urusually sev- 
ere attack of simp'e life, economy and so forth, I 
decided I'd settle the simple life question for him 
once and forever. As soon as he got away to the 
office I called in a furniture mover, we took all the 
comfortable, chairs, couch, tables, etc., down in the 
basement, took up all the rugs, left the floors all 
bare, took down all the pictures, put away all the 
china, cut glass and silver, then we got down a few 
rickety, uncomfortable chairs that had been dis- 
carded years ago, set up an old bedstead with a 
humpy straw tick, put a couple of cracked yellow 
bowis and some cheap spoons on the dining room 
table, got an old clay pipe and some of the cheapest 
tobacco I could find, shut ofif the gas and waited for 
the simple life man. 

{Laughter, chorus, " Good for you," " Bright idea," 
" Guess that fixed him," etc.) 

Mrs. Brown. It must have been a forsaken- 
looking house. What did he say when he got home ? 

AIrs. Smith, {laughing heartily) Oh, it was 
too funny for anything. He came in the door, 



8 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

stopped, looked around, then put his hand to his 
head as if he couldn't believe his eyes. 

Mrs. Shaw. . Perhaps he thought he'd been at 
the club too long. 

Mrs. Smith. Then the storm broke. " What 
does this mean?" he roared. "The simple life," 
I Slid svv-eetly, " we've begun to live it, just like our 
grandparents,— bare floors, straight chairs, no use- 
less bric-a-brac that needs a maid to take care of 
*(that was one of his stock quotations) and I can 
do all my own cooking since we have returned to 
the primitive life. We are going to have cold 
johnny cake and milk for supper " and I pointed 
to the two desreputable yellow bowls on the table. 
" No more extravagance in this household." I 
added. 

Mrs. Jones. Turned the tables on him good, 
didn't you? 

Mrs. Brown. Wasn't he awful mad? 

Mrs. Smith. He gave a roar like a caged lion 
and started to light the gas but it was shut off. " No 
more gas," says I blandly, " our grandparents got 
along nicely with candles," and I lighted one little 
flickering candle. " Woman," he howled, " what 
have you done with the furniture? " " I've put it in 
the basement until we can sell it? " but before -I had 
the sentence finished he was half way down the 
street and in a few minutes came back with two 
men who immediately got to work putting back 
rugs, furniture, pictures, etc., and I've neve-r heard 
simple life mentioned from that day to this. 

Mrs. Sh.aw. I'll try it to-morrow. 

(Chorus, so zvill I, yes, indeed, etc.) 

Mrs. Jones, (rising and going over to window, 
examines draperies) My lace curtains are ruined — 
tied up in hard knots — (tries to untie them — others 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 9 

zvalk around, examining things, pick up burnt 
matches, straighten chair s, cushions, etc.) 

Mrs. Wi-iite. {taking pail of ashes from table) 
Here's a pail of ashes to match mine and pipes- 
pipes — pipes — {holds up pipe after pipe) 

Mrs. Smith. Look at these stacks of cards! 

Mrs. Brown, {to iviRs. Jones) Does your hus- 
band play poker? 

Mrs. Jones. No-o — I don't think so but I must 
say the sick friends he visits evenings borrow a 
good deal of his money. 

Mrs. White. He's probably deceiving you about 
the sick friends he visits. My husband said to me 
the other day " Do you think I could deceive my 
own little wife?" "No," says I, "I know you 
could not but I believe you are silly enough to try." 

Mrs. Green. My husband doesn't like dancing. 

Mrs. Jones. What objection has he to danc- 
ing? 

Mrs. Green. He says it's merely hugging set 
to music. 

Mrs. Shaw. Which does he object to, the hug- 
ging or the music ? 

Mrs. Green. Oh, the music, of course. 

Mrs. Jones, {holding up cushions) Look at 
my brand new cushions! 

Mrs. Rrown. {picking up boots) Evidently 
wore rubber boots to bed. 

Mrs. Green. {holding up different articles) 
Shirts, coats, papers on every chair ! 

Mrs. Jones. He will persist in using this room 
for a bedroom if I'm away, {shakes out pajamas 
and folds them up. ) 

Mrs. Brown. " Shoes are on the chiffonier, 
Trousers on the floor. 
Shirts upon the chandelier, 
W^ife's been to the shore." 

Mrs. Green, {going over to couch) What has 
he been doing with the bedclothes? 



10 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

Mrs. Smith. Guess all the clothes he owns are 
on the floor. 

(Mrs. Jones looks under couch.) 

Mrs. White. What are you looking under the 
couch for? 

Mrs. Jones. Well, since that husband of mine 
has taken to automobiling I find that he often 
crawls under the Led and I didn't know but he 
might be there now. 

Mrs. Brown. Force of habit, eh? Some folks 
would sell their homes for an auto. 

Mrs. Jones. My husband said we wouldn't need 
a home after we got the auto and (looking around 
ruefully and sighinq) he certainly seems to have 
tried liis best to destroy it. 

Mrs. Shaw. It took Charlie Young a year to 
make up his mind what kind of an auto to buy and 
I understand he was only two weeks picking out 
his wife. 

Mrs. Green. Probably thought he could dispose 
of his wife easier than he could of his auto. 

Mrs. Smith. Ever hear about George Kendall 
the first time he saw a big touring car? (chorus — 
No, tell us — What about it? etc.) 

Mrs. Smith. A big touring car filled with swell 
looking men whizzed past him leaving a trail of 
bluish smoke and the usual smell. " Gee," says he, 
" them may be swell city fsllers but they certainly 
v/as smokirg some durned awful smelling cigars." 
{laughter) 

Mrs. White. You know when Albert Black 
was looking at automobiles he said he didn't know 
whether to buy a gasoline or limousine — asked the 
man which he thought smelled worse. 

Mrs. Jones, {shaking out bedclothes) I don't 
see how he ever got these clothes in such a mess. 

Mrs. Brown, {going over to couch) Think your 



THOSE HUSBAXDS OF OURS. 11 

husband must be rather restless. Isn't he a sound 
sleeper? 

Mrs. Jones. Sound? I should say so! The 
sound he makes can be heard half a mile. 

Mrs. Green. Snores, does he, eh? That makes 
me think of the time Mr. Small went to Chicago. 
He had got settled in his berth sound asleep and 
was snoring away at an awful rate when the man in 
the upper berth leaned over the edge and yelled at 
him. " Hi, you, down there are you rich? " " Hey, 
what do you want? " sleepily answered Mr. Small, 
after several repetitions of the question. I say, 
" are you rich ? " " What do you mean by waking 
me up to ask me such a question as that? " " I 
want to know, that's why." " Well it's none of your 
business," says Mr. Small. " but to gratify your 
curiosity I'll tell you I am rich." " Well, then, why 
in thunder don't you charter a whole train to do 
your snoring in?" {laughter and remarks) 

Mrs. Brown. My husband sleeps so sound you 
can hardly wake him. The other night some one 
was yelling fire at the top of his voice and I finally 
got him partly awake and told him to slip on his- 
trousers and go down and see where the fire was. 
He was still half asleep, got his trousers on hind 
side before, started for the stairs and fell down the 
whole flight. I rushed after him and said. " Are 
you hurt? " " No," says he, looking at his trousers, 
"but I must have got an awful twist." {laughter 
and remarks) 

Mrs. Jones. I get madder and madder the more 
I look at these rooms. I'm going out in the sitting 
room and' telephone to that husband of mine. He's 
probably at the club. 

Mrs. Smith. Going to call him up to call him 
down, eh? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I am. {walks ozrr to tele- 
phone, rings and gives number) Holloa, Com- 
mercial Club? {pause) I want to speak to my 



12 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

husband, (pause) How do you know? I haven't 
told you who I am yet? (pause, then slams itp 
receiver) 

[Chorus — IVhat is it? What is the matter f etc.) 

Mrs. Jones, (indignantly) The impudent thing! 
Said my husband wasn't there before I told him who 
I was and when I said so he said it was quite 
unnecessai-y to know who I was — nobody's husband 
was ever by any chance there. 

Mrs. White. Orders from those husbands of 
ours. 

Mrs. Green. Oh, these monsters of men ! Why 
did we ever marry them, (sinks down in chair, the 
rest also sit) 

Mrs. Jones. Why did we marry them? I sup- 
pose for the same reason lots of women buy dogs 
and parrots — they see other women have them and 
don't realize what a trial they are. 

Mrs. Smith. Men are like jobs — when you 
need them and want them they're not there. When 
you don't need them and don't want them they're 
thicker'n flies in fly time. 

Mrs. Brown. If a man hasn't anything he's 
mighty willing to promise to give you half of it 
but if he has anything it's mighty hard to get a 
nickel without- fi^se pretences. 

Mrs; Shaw. Does your husband give you an 
allov/ance ? 

Mrs. ErgVv'N. He did one montli but he was so 
mad because I sper.t it before he could borrow it 
back that he never would again. Men are like co'n- 
tracts — if you once sign away your rights you never 
get them back. 

Mrs. White. That husband of mine told me be- 
fore I married him that if I would only be his wife 
I'd be treated like an angel. 

Mrs. Green. Well, you have, haven't you? 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OTJUS. 13 

Nothing to eat and less to wear. That's h'ke an 
angel. 

Mrs. Jones. Well, scientists say man is seventy- 
five percent water so I suppose we shouldn't take 
any stock in him. My husband promised if Fd 
marry him that I could look for an easy life and 
plenty of money. He was right— I am still loohing 
and presume I sh:ill keep on looking the rest of my 
life. 

Mrs. Green. Talk about promises, being treated 
like angels and all the rest. Do you know that a 
little while ago I burned all the letters my husband 
wrote me before we were married? 

Mrs. White. Maven't you any sentiment? 

Mrs. Green. I did it in self defence. If any 
one got hold of those letters after his death they'd 
dispute his will on the ground of insanity. He's 
willed everything to me and Fm not going to take 
any chances. 

Mrs. White. I think Fll do the same with 
mine, it's too much risk to keep them. 

Mrs. Smith. Maud Phillips was wise that she 
didn't marry that Haskell fellow. 

Mrs. Brown. What was the trouble?- Wasn't 
her father on his side? 

Mrs. Smith. No, he vvas in back of him — with 
number elevens on. 

Mrs. Spaw. They say they'd die for you and 
can't even remember to bring home a pound of 
butter. 

Mrs. White. Probably it's so greasy it slips 
their minds. I do hate this everlasting finding fault 
with the food. Oh, it used to be, "We'll live on 
bread and kisses," now when I put a nice angel cake 
on the table he snarls, " You call that thing angel 

food ? " 

Mrs. Green. Tell him if that doesn't suit him 
you can give him some devilled crabs — be more in 
keeping with his disposition. Do you know I 
think a man is a good deal like a camel ? 



14 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

Mrs. Jones. Why? 

Mrs. Smith. I don't see why a man is Hke a 
camel. 

Mrs. Green. Because he's always got his back 
up. 

Mrs. Jones. I think married men are a good 
deal like lamps. 

Mrs. Shaw. Married men like lamps? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, married men like lamps. 

Mrs. White. Why? 

Mrs. Jones. They go out sometimes nights 
when they shouldn't. 

Mrs. Brown. Do you know my dog did the 
cutest thing the other day. My husband was finding 
fault with everything and everybody. 

Mrs. Shaw. As usual. 

Mrs. Brown. Yes, as usual and Jhat dog went 
and got his muzzle and laid it right down at my 
husband's feet. 

Mrs. Shaw. Pretty good hint for him to shut 
up. They find fault with everything when they feel 
like it and then expect you to inake up any time they 
say the word. My husband went otT crosser than 
a bear the other morning and came home at night 
with a package which he tried very hard to make 
me ask about. I wouldn't let on I noticed it so 
finally he said, " Aren't you curious to know what 
is in this package?" "Not very," says I coolly. 
" Well, it's something for the one I love best in the 
world." "Oh, is that so?" says I, "then it must 
be those suspenders you said you needed." 

Mrs. Green. I read a pretty good piece on 
matrimony the other day. I think I have it in my 
pocket now. 

{Chorus. Read it. Oh, let's hear it, etc. Mrs. 
Green reads Aunt Hetty on Matrimony to be 
found in Dick's Dutch, French and Yankee 
Dialect Recitations.) 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 15 

Mrs. Jones. Idiots! Yes and there's Mary- 
Cameron been married six times. 

Mrs. Green. Well, she married three pairs of 
lemons trying to get a peach. 

Mrs. White. Still Mr. Rapp swells up with 
pride (rises and imitates) when m.aking his politick 
speeches and says he doesn't hesitate to admit that 
whatever he h to-day is due to the influence of his 
wife. 

Mrs. Green. That's right,„ always blame the 
woman, (laughter) 

Mrs. Jones. That man is too lazy and too mean 
to live. When some one asked him why he didn't 
join the business men's gymnasium class at the 
Y. M. C. A. he said he didn't need any calisthenics — 
he got all the exercise he needed building the fire 
every morning. 

Mrs. Smith. What kind of a fire — wood or 
coal ? Lots of ashes, I suppose. 

Mrs, Jones. No, they use a gas stove and he 
■ has to light a match. 

Mrs. Brown. Have you noticed that his little 
boy is wearing glasses ? Poor little chap ! 

Mrs. Shaw. What a pity! Are his eyes in 
poor condition ? 

Mrs. Brown. No, the boy doesn't need glasses 
at all but it's a pair his grandfather used before he 
died and that old curmudgeon m^kes the boy wear 
them — says it's a shame to waste them, (groans, 
shakes of head, etc.) 

Mrs. Smith. Well, I call that the limit for mean- 
ness. Going back to cooking, do you know I can 
make a veal cutlet look like a turkey. 

Mrs. Shaw. A veal cutlet look like a turkey! 
Huh, I can do better than that. 

Mrs. Smith. What, I'd like to know. 

Mrs. Shaw. I can make my husband look like a 
lobster. 



16 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OUES. 

Mrs. Smith. That's a pretty good trick to know. 
How do you do it? 

Mrs. Shaw. When he comes prowling home 
about two o'clock in the morliing make him try say- 
ing " Smith's spirit flask split Phillip's sixth sister's 
squirrel's skull." (laughter) 

Chorus. Good. We'll try it — etc. 

Mrs. Sitaw. If he gets through that safely have 
him try, " Geraldine, give Grimes, Jim's gilt gig 
whip and goggles. He's going joy riding in the 
jinrikisha after giflseng." (more laughter) 

Mrs. Shaw. If he says that all right, I let him 
in. If he can't, he has to sleep in the auto house. 

Mrs. White. I should think he would look like 
a lobster after that. Do you ever try having them 
count a dish full of beans when they get home late? 
That's a pretty good test. My husband said he 
never believed there were so many beans in the 
world until he tried to count them at three o'clock 
in the morning. 

Mrs. Green. My husband was at a smoker at 
the club Saturday night and didn't get home until 
one o'clock. 

Mrs. Jones. Is that why he wasn't at church 
Sunday morning? 

Mrs. Green. No, he says the ventilation is so 
poor in church and the atmosphere gets so heavy 
that he can't keep awake. 

Mrs. Smith. 'Too bad about him! Presume you 
couldn't cut the air with a' knife at his old smoker. 
Have you ever heard about the time Al, Brett went 
to church? 

Mrs. Brown. Didn't knov/ he ever went. 

Mrs. Smith.' He did, o::cc. When the man 
passed the contribution box he leaned over and, in a 
stage whisper, said, " Excuse me, I can't vote. I 
haven't got out my, papers yet." 

Mrs. Brown. Makes me think of John Wilbur. 



THOSE PIUSBAXDS OF OUES. 17 

He's a policeman you know. When they pass the 
contribution box he just shows his badge. 

Mr.s. Smith. Suppose he thinks that wilt pass 
him through the pearly gates. 

Mrs. Shaw. Talk about waiting for women to 
get ready ! I always have to wait and wait for my 
husband Sunday morning before he can tear him- 
self away from his old Sunday paper. 

Mrs. White. Same at my house. He asked me 
once if I died first if I'd wait for him on the other 
shore. I told him if I didn't it would be the first 
religious 'Service I didn't wait for him. 

Mrs. Brown. I don't go to the Congregational 
Church any more. 

Mrs. Shaw. What grudge have you against the 
Congregational Church? 

Mrs. Brown. A very decided grudge. It was 
in the Congregational Church I first met my hus- 
band. 

Mrs. White. I saw an awful funny thing in 
Church the other Sunday. 

Mrs. Green. Tell us about it. 

Mrs. White. You know Mr. Reynolds is very 
deaf and always has to carry a large ear-trumpet. 
We have a new usher, a Scotchman, Mr. Burns, 
and he'd never seen an ear-trumpet before so he 
watched Mr. Reynolds very closely and when he saw 
him start to raise the trumpet he could stand it no 
longer so hurried over to him, shook a warning 
finger emphatically at him and said, " One toot and 
you're oot." {laughter) 

Mrs. Green. Speaking of bodily afflictions. Si 
Hastings must have a lot of trouble with his teeth. 

Mrs. Jones. I always thought he had partic- 
ularly good teeth. 

Mrs. Green. Well, I heard him telling some one 
that it cost him thousands of dollars to get his eye 
teeth cut. 



18 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OUES. 

Mrs. Jones. Huh, I reckon it did. He and Abe 
Goddard are great cronies. I wonder if Abe drinks 
hard now. 

Mrs. Smith. Don't know whether he drinks or 
not, but his nose is so red it singes his mustache. 

Mrs. Brown. What's the matter with Sam 
Townsend's fmger? I saw he had it all bandaged 

Mrs. Shaw. He ran a splinter in it, I believe. 

Mrs. Brown. Ran a splinter in it? Been 
scratching his head ? 

Mrs. Jones. Wooden, eh? 

Mrs. White. I hear that Hiram Atkins has 
joined the new Progressive party — says it's as pure 
as the driven snow. 

Mrs. Green. Huh, pure as the driven snow. 
Guess it's been driven through some mud. Hi 
thinks he's a great orator. 

Mrs. Jones. I heard him talk about two hours 
the other evening. 

Mrs. Smith. What was he talking about? 

Mrs. Jones. I don't know. He didn't say and 
it would puzzle a Dutchman to find out. 

Mrs. Smith. Herbert Harding is sticking to the 
Republican party. I believe he's running for 
Mayor. 

Mrs. Brown. Thought he believed the office 
should seek the man and not the man the office. 

Mrs. Smith. That's v/hat he says but he'll look 
out to hang out a lantern and ring a bell so the 
office will know which v/ay to look. 

Mrs. Sh.a.w. Is Tom Sharp in favor of the 
initiative and referendum ? 

Mrs. W'hite. His wlic '~ v ''^ '3 and also the 
recall and local option and airst'^irj else that is an 
excuse for going to the polls and getting rid of a 
day's W'Ork. 

Mrs. Green. I asked my husband what a 
referendum was. 



THOSE HUSBAXDS OF OURS. 19 

Mrs. Jones. He's such a politician I presume 
he explained it to you very clearly. 

Mrs. Green. No, he said he didn't know 
whether it was a soft drink or part of an aeroplane. 

Mrs. Smith. And still tliey say women are not' 
well enough informed to vote. Are you in favor 
of women voting, Mrs. Brown? 

Mrs. Brown. No, I can't say I am just at 
present. The men have got things into such a mess 
that I think they ought to clean them up themselves, 
then we'll step in and keep things clean. 

Mrs. StiAW. Their politics are a good deal like 
their housekeeping. Pretty dirty! 

Mrs. Jones. Oh, dear, this dreadful house! Is 
there anything that a man can do better than any 
one else ? 

Mrs. White. Lawyer Briggs says there's one 
thing he can do better than any other lawyer. 

Mrs. Jones. What is that? 

Mrs. White. Says he can read his own writing. 

Mrs. Green. Oh, I ought to be at home clean- 
ing up that dreadful mess. 

Mrs. Smith. So ought I but I just can't get up 
my courage to start. 

{Chorus. Nor I. Oh, dear, I suppose ive'll have 
to — etc., etc.) 

Mrs. Jones. I'll look out and get on my fighting 
dress to-night all right. 

Mrs. Brown. Your fighting dress? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, haven't you one? 

Mrs. Brown. No, I don't believe so. What is it 
anyway ? 

Mrs. Jones. Why, it's a dress that buttons in the 
front so I don't have to ask my husband to button 
it for me. Think I'll need all the fighting clothes 
I own to-night. 



20 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OURS. 

Mrs. Shaw. Does your husband like these cling- 
ing gowns? 

Mrs. Jones. Clinging gowns ! Yes, he likes 
them to cling to me about ten years. 

Mrs. White. They say the modern woman 
" toils not, neither does she spin " but I have to toil 
pretty hard and spin a good many fairy tales to get 
a new dress. 

Mrs. Green. Isn't that so? I need a new hat 
most awfully. 

Mrs. Jones. What kind are you going to get? 
Merry Widow? 

Mrs. Green. No, " Miserable Wife " would be 
more ap])ropriate. 

Mrs. Smith. TaU< about women being partic- 
ular and hard to suit. W^hy, my husband is the 
fussiest mortal. 

Mrs. Brown. I'm surprised. He always dresses 
so quietly. 

Mrs. Smith. He does not. Dresses quietly ! 
You just ought to hear him when he loses a collar 
button. Dresses quietly ! 

Mrs. Shaw. Henry Lee is a well dressed man. 

Mrs. Smith. So is a clothing store dummy. 

Mrs. White. Raymond Fox is the most partic- 
ular man about his neckties. There are very few 
kinds or colors that he'll wear and they have to be 
just such a length and width. 

Mrs. Green. Have you ever heard Mrs. Fox 
tell about the time she tried to pick out a necktie 
for him? 

{Chorus. No. Tell us — etc.) 

Mrs. Green. The clerk showed her necktie 
after necktie, but not one that her husband 
would wear. She kept telling the clerk each new 
one he showed her, " No, my husband wouldn't wear 
that. No, nor that, etc." At last, in despair, the 



THOSE HUSBANDS OF OUES. 21 

clerk said, " Madam you don't want a necktie. 
What you want is a divorce." 

Mrs. Jones. Men make a great deal of fun of 
women's clothes but have you ever stopped to think 
how ridiculous a man's clothes are. Beginning at 
his head, look at the thing he wears — a hideous felt 
thing so hard and tight that it leaves a red furrow 
on his forehead when it is removed. 

Mrs. Smith. Yes, and if it is a sixteenth of an 
inch higher or lower in the crown or narrower or 
broader in the brim than the latest model in the 
hatter's window it must be instantly changed no 
matter whether the style is becoming or not. 

Mrs. Brown. Think of the neck rigging! Six 
or eight thicknesses of cotton or linen with a string 
of colored silk around it, all drawn so tight that the 
windpipe is nearly severed. 

Mrs. Shaw. Consider his shirt ! A stiff, board- 
like article supposed to lie smooth and placid but 
which usually cracks, breaks, rumples and pushes 
up under his chin like a stone wall. 

Mrs. White. And his vest! A regular sham! 
Queen Anne front and Mary Ann back ! Front of 
rich material, back of flimsy miserable cotton stuff. 

Mrs. Green. Then his coat ! A garment with 
two tails decorated with two buttons guaranteed 
to fasten the owner to any piece of furniture on 
which he happens to sit. 

Mrs. Jones. Below the coat two cloth stove- 
pipes for his legs. These are suspended from his 
shoulders by decorated rubber straps that make the 
creature look like a harnessed mule. 

Mrs. Smith. They're mules all right. The space 
of several inches which intervenes between the 
trousers and shoes is covered with a piece of colored 
silk or cotton unlike anything else in the surround- 
ing landscape. And the shoes ! Mud scows with 
turned up noses and verandas extending all around 
the front half of the shoe. No more the shape of 



22 THOSE HUSBANDS OF OUES. 

the foot than the rest of the clothes are the shape 
of the rest of the body. 

Mrs. Green. That is the lord of creation. 

Mr.s. Brown. And yet they make fun of our 
clothes. " Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us. 
To see oursels as ithers see us ! " 

{Knock ct door. All jump. Mrs. Black rushes 
in, laughing' very heartily. Holds hands on 
sides and laughs, szvays back and forth, others 
surround her in astonishment, asking questions 
and taking hold of her.) 

Mrs. Jones. What is the matter, Mrs. Black? 

Mrs. Smith. I believe the sight of her house 
has driven her crazy. 

Mrs. Black, {stiil laughing) No — no — no. 

Mrs. Brown. What is it then? 

Mrs. Black, {still laughing) Oh — oh — oh — you 
never saw anything so funny in all your life, {has 
another spell of laugJiing) 

Mrs. Jones. Well, I guess if you had such a 
looking house as this you wouldn't feel so much like 
laughing. 

Mrs. Black. Your house isn't a circumstance to 
mine but {laughing again) I've laughed till I ache 
all over. 

Mrs. White. Do hurry up and tell us about it. 

Mrs. Black. You just ought to see my husband 
— worst looking object you ever saw in all your 
life. {Jias another spell of laughing) 

Mrs. Shaw. What is the matter with him? 

Mrs. Black, {still convidsed zvith laughter) 
Oh — oh — oh — he evidently wanted to look young 
while I was away and tried to dye his hair and it 
turned it a brilliant green like, a head of celery. 
{laughs again — others join feebly) 

Mrs. Black. He finally confessed — said the first 
application turned it brindle, the second, yellow, and 



THOSE HUSBA^'DS OF OURS. 23 

the third, green, and he can't budge the green. I 
found him locked up in the bedroom where he's 
spent most of the time since I left. 

Mrs. Green. It'll wear off in time, won't it? 

Mrs. Black. That's what he's wondering. 
(laughs heartily again) Oh, it's too funny! 

Mrs. Jones. I can't see how you can laugh so 
when we have :u:;i houses to clear up. 

(Chorus. Nor I. How can you. I don't feel as 
if I'd ever laugh again, etc.) 

Mrs. Black. Come on over all of you and take 
one look at him. It'll serve him right to be put on 
exhibition and ore glance is warranted to cure the 
worst attack of tb.e blues. 

Mrs. Jones. A\'e surely need something to make 
us smile again after this experience, but I think 
those husbands of ours should be punished in some 
way. 

Chorus. So do I. And I, etc. 

Mrs. Smith. What can we do? (all think a 
minute) 

Mrs. Jones. I have it. Let's all send for our 
mothers to make us a long visit. 

Chorus. The very thing. Good, etc. 

Mrs. Jones. That will be killing two birds with 
one stone. They'll help us clean up these awful 
houses and make those husbands of ours walk the 
chalk line for av/hile. 

Mrs. Shaw. I'll go right home and telephone so 
mother will get here before that husband of mine 
gets home. 

Chorus. So will I. And I, etc. 

Mrs. Black. And I'll make my husband sit at 
the window as you go by. (all hurry out) 

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